Sister
by The Stin
Summary: When Thomas and Martha died, they left behind two children. An eight year old boy, and a two month old girl. As Bruce goes on the path to becoming the Batman, he now must protect his identity from the masses, as well as his teenage younger sister. With one more person to protect his secret from, and just as few allies as before, Bruce assumes the mantle of Gotham's caped crusader.


Martha Wayne was sitting on a couch in one of the numerous side rooms of Wayne Manor. The room was brightly lit by the complex chandelier above her head, and it easily warded off the darkness outside. It was Autumn, and the days were ending earlier and earlier.

On Martha's lap sat the current apple of her eye, an infant child. The baby was just under two months old, and as such was quietly feeding on Martha's breast.

A click from the door at the far side of the room signified a new occupant's entry, as Thomas Wayne came in. He gave a warm smile to his wife and child. "I thought I'd find you in here again." He strolled towards the two. "You do realize you could just as easily do this in the nursery?"

Martha grinned at her husband. "Oh, but you know how big and empty that room is. I just can't stand it. Maybe once some toys get strewn out and about I'll be able to bear it."

Thomas sat next to his wife. "I somehow doubt that Alfred would share that sentiment."

"Where is he, by the way?" Martha leaned over to look through the still open door way. "He's normally following you like your shadow."

"He's helping Bruce get ready for tonight." Thomas replied. "We did promise him we'd let him see that movie," Thomas smiled mischievously. "And after the debacle that was his eighth birthday, I think we owe him."

"I seem to remember the responsibility for that incident falling on you." A playful sparkle came from Martha's eye. Thomas raised his eyebrows in mock insult.

"Now I had little to do with that." He covered his heart with his right hand as if wounded. "That you would think so hurts me greatly."

Martha sighed. Her child had now finished, and she made herself decent. "Well we'd best not keep our eldest waiting. Knowing Alfred he's already got Bruce marching to the doors, if not already to the gate." Before she could stand, Thomas was already up, holding out his hand. With a smile, she took it, holding the infant in her other arm.

A minute later found them descending the stairs of the manor's main hall. At the bottom stood a middle aged English man, the Wayne's butler Alfred, and next to him a short child in an appropriately sized suit, the 8 year old Bruce Wayne.

"Are we all set to go now?" Thomas asked cheerily. He chuckled at the enthusiastic nodding from his son.

Martha meanwhile, tenderly handed her child to Alfred. "We'll be back a bit late, but make sure she's properly tucked in for the night."

Alfred nodded, not once breaking protocol, even as he held the two-month-old in his arms. "Of course Miss Wayne." It had taken many years to break Alfred's habit of calling Martha 'Lady' and Thomas 'Lord', but the three had compromised on the decidedly less awkward 'Miss' and 'Master'. "I believe I have accumulated enough experience with young Master Bruce to tend to the young Miss for one night." Bruce flushed slightly in embarrassment at the comment.

Thomas let a light laugh ring out. "Don't let him get to you son." He said, patting Bruce on the head. "We were all there at one point or another."

Bruce smiled back at his father. He wasn't quite sure what that meant, but Dad was laughing, so it must've been good.

Martha took in the display, appreciating the close-knit relation their family had maintained, despite business and pleasure. One last time, she looked down at the curled up girl in Alfred's arms, nodding off to sleep. Leaning closely, she whispered into the child's ear. "Mommy is going out with your big brother for a bit. You be a good girl for Alfred, okay?" Martha then kissed the girl on the forehead. "Good night Jennifer. Pleasant dreams."

As Martha leaned up from baby Jennifer, Bruce began tugging on Thomas' pant-leg. "C'mon Dad. If we don't go soon we'll miss all the good parts."

Thomas grinned at his wife. "Right you are son. Alfred, we'll be back whenever we get back. If something happens we'll call on the main line."

"Of course Master Wayne. Do please enjoy your evening."

With those words, three figures stepped out the doors of Wayne Manor. Two of them would never do so again.

**L**I**N**E **B**R**E**A**K**

Eight and a half year old Bruce Wayne was sitting on a couch in one of the side rooms of Wayne Manor. The room was barely lit, the lights on the chandelier having burnt out almost a month before. The darkness outside slowly crept in through the windows as the sun set. It was the middle of Winter, and the nights had become much longer.

It was late in December. Christmas Eve would be in a week. Next week would be the first week his Dad got off of work at the company. He always made a point of shutting down all of Waynetech for the week of Christmas. 'Holidays are the time you spend with the family', he'd always say. Now he'd never get to see another holiday with his family.

It was Dad's fault for taking them to see the movie. It was Bruce's fault for wanting to see it. It was Dad's fault again for taking them on that shortcut through a back alley. It was Mom's fault for not trying hard enough to stop him. And then it was that man's fault for holding them up. It was that man's fault for pulling the trigger. Once on Dad and once on Mom. He shot them and there was nothing Bruce could do about it. Nothing he could do to stop it. Nothing but curl up into a ball, and try to hide from the thought.

A rap on the door knocked Bruce out of his revere. "Master Bruce?" He could hear from the other end. Not waiting for an answer, Alfred opened the door. "Ah, there you are Master Bruce. Your nightly meal has been prepared."

"I don't need it. Leave me alone." Bruce moaned from his position on the couch.

Alfred sighed. "I'm afraid I am inclined to refuse such a request." Alfred sat down on the couch next to Bruce. "Master Bruce, you've been quite the picky eater these past weeks, and you've hardly touched anything today. For my own peace of mind, please come to the dining room and eat."

Bruce sat in his fetal position for several more seconds. "… Alright." He eventually said. A rare expression of relief passed over Alfred's face as Bruce slowly stood up.

The young master of the house followed his butler at a snail's pace, arriving at the dining room several minutes later. In the room already was baby Jennifer in a high chair, being watched by one of the house's lesser staff, a maid who performed basic cleaning and cooking.

Alfred gave the maid a nod. "Thank you. I will be able to handle things from here. If you would fetch the young masters' meal." The maid returned the nod with a kind smile. As she turned towards the kitchen, Bruce noticed as her eyes passed over him, a short glimpse of sympathy. It lasted no longer than a few seconds however. And she strode gracefully towards the kitchen as Bruce took his seat.

Dinner was a silent affair. Bruce slowly picked at his meal, while Alfred fed Jennifer with a bottle of formula. It had taken nearly a month for Jennifer to stop crying for her mother. She still cried now every once and again but at least now she accepted the bottle willingly.

When Bruce excused himself, barely half of what had been set before him was gone. From there Bruce walked to his room, shuffling along once again. Once on the way he passed another member of the house staff. Another split second of pity and the man was gone.

The halls were wide in Wayne Manor. Not ludicrously so, but enough to be impressive. Even with all of the staff and Alfred though, it wasn't the same. It felt empty. There was a big hole in the house. Two big holes in fact; In the shape of Thomas and Martha Wayne respectively. For just two people, they had exuded an alternating aura of authority and love to each of their workers, and especially to their children. Without them, the house no longer lived or breathed. The soul was gone.

Bruce's bedroom was a modest room, or relatively modest at any rate. Although it was smaller compared to other rooms in the manor, it was still large in its own right, harboring a bookshelf, a study desk, and Bruce's bed among other things, with plenty of room to spare. Bruce had not come to sleep however, and chose to look at the bookshelf to pass the time.

On it were various titles. From books on economics, to mathematics, to finer sciences, to English, not to mention other languages, many topics were covered. As he looked to lower shelves though, he saw less mature books. Books of fantasy and grandeur. Books of heroes and villains and happy endings. Books of pictures and colors. Books his parents read to him.

Looking away, Bruce quickly wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. He didn't want to cry anymore tonight. Sitting on the bed, Bruce simply sat and stared at the wall. Maybe if he didn't think about anything, he'd stop existing, and he wouldn't have to deal with any of this.

Once again however, Bruce's brooding was interrupted, as he heard a knock on the door. "Master Bruce. May I come in?" Bruce mumbled quietly. Taking that as an affirmative, Alfred opened the door. "Master Bruce, I've been meaning to talk with you."

"I ate my dinner." Bruce stated simply. "Shouldn't you be looking after Jennifer?"

"I've tucked her in for the night. If she needs me before the morning, I'll know it." Alfred replied, sitting on Bruce's bed next to him. "Master Wayne was a good man." He said plainly.

"Being good doesn't keep you from dying." Bruce said plainly.

"Perhaps so, but Master Wayne was a good man regardless." Alfred looked down to Bruce. "It didn't stop his death or Miss Wayne's death, but they were good people anyhow." Alfred placed his hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Master Bruce, you must realize that Gotham City does not have many good people." Bruce nodded. "Well Master Wayne knew that too. He could have chosen to be an evil man like the rest. He could have used his money to exploit Gotham, and make more money for himself. But he didn't, did he?" Bruce shook his head. "No he didn't. He made donation after donation to charities and businesses alike, going as far to pay out of his own pocket from time to time."

Bruce nodded again. This was all stuff he knew. Stuff about how 'the world was a lesser place without Thomas Wayne', but that wouldn't bring him back. Nothing would.

"Master Bruce I want you to look at me." Bruce turned his head to look in the direction of Alfred's voice. "Master Bruce I want you to _look_ at me." Rolling his eyes, Bruce tilted his head up slightly. Suddenly Alfred grabbed Bruce by the chin and snapped his gaze upward. "Look me in the eyes!" Alfred commanded, in a stern voice he rarely used on the young master. The uncharacteristic outburst had indeed surprised Bruce, and Alfred now commanded his full attention.

"Master Bruce," he began. "Your father was one of the greatest men I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. He has entrusted me with the task of ensuring one thing, and one thing only: that you become a good man, if not greater than your father. I can't force you to do that however. You must choose to become that man. Do you understand." Bruce remained frozen, his eyes wide. "I asked if you understood!" Bruce nodded vigorously up and down, his chin still cupped in Alfred's hand. At that, Alfred let out a deep breath, releasing Bruce. Standing up, Alfred took a respectful bow to his master. "I apologize for my conduct Master Bruce. I… I just want you to be someone your parents could be proud of, even if they're gone." Turning on his heel, walked to the exit. As he closed the door behind him with a soft click, he promptly spoke, "Good night Master Bruce".

For several minutes, Bruce sat speechless. Eventually he began to contemplate. Alfred had always been different from the other staff. Bruce sometimes thought it was because of the way he talked. Perhaps that was a bit of it, but something else now. When the other workers looked at him, he only saw pity in their eyes, But Alfred didn't show him any of that.

_To Become a good man_ Bruce thought as he prepared for bed. _Better than my father. Helping people. Helping them from what?_ That question was immediately answered by Bruce's imagination. He shivered as He once again saw his parents hit the ground, and two gunshots echoed in his mind. There was the what, but how? Bruce turned out the lights and crawled into his bed. He continued to wonder what he would do as he dozed off into the night.

In his dreams, Bruce was walking through a dark alley. His parents were flanking him on either side. As the image began moving through Bruce's mind again, this time, resolve built within him. He looked at the approaching attacker with steely eyes. He didn't have a face, and Bruce couldn't remember his voice. It had been raining that night, and the one lamp in the alley had gone out. Nonetheless, Bruce stared down the faceless assailant. As the attacker raised his blurry hand, Bruce imagined an object in his hand. A gun. Pointing the weapon forward, he pulled the trigger, once, then twice. He watched the body fall down, and then split into two. The two pieces began to take shape. One piece was Thomas Wayne. The other his wife Martha.

Bruce awoke breathing quickly. The dream had been like every other he'd had for months, but this time, he had been holding the gun. This time, he had ended his parent's lives. _I don't know what to do._ Bruce thought. _I need to do something, but I don't know what to do…_ _I need to be smarter, stronger…_ Sitting up, Bruce looked towards the book case. Getting out of bed and turning on the light, Bruce picked a book off of the shelf, a mathematics text book. Turning to the first page, Bruce thought to himself. _It's a start._

**L**I**N**E **B**R**E**A**K**

A thirteen year old Bruce Wayne Sat on the grounds of Wayne Manor reading a computer science text book. For the past five years he had been studying relentlessly in a variety of subjects. His English skills were College level and he was speaking passably in Spanish, French, and Latin. Although not as far ahead in other subjects, he was still well above the high school level in Biology and Chemistry, as well as math. The only subject he hadn't focused on as much was history, tending to look at the events, learn the lesson, and forget the event. He'd been focusing more on government and criminology as of late though. He had also recently found an interesting book in the Manor's library on forensic science.

About thirty feet from him was Alfred and Jennifer. Jennifer had just recently gotten to a point where she could walk feasibly without toppling over often. At five years old, she was an energetic force to be reckoned with, and was certainly wearing out Alfred.

With a sigh, Bruce marked his spot and closed his book, setting it down beside him. Next week Jennifer would begin preschool, and then she'd be home quite a bit less. Bruce remembered preschool rather well. It was the only time he wasn't ostracized by others for coming from the richest family in Gotham. After that, he was always the odd one out. Admittedly he was quite awkward at the time, but he still didn't harbor memories of first and second grade fondly. In that spirit, he hadn't felt too heartbroken about his decision to only meet private tutors at the manor ever since he was eight and a half. Alfred had been concerned at first, not certain of Bruce's work ethic, but his doubts were soon erased. For a thirteen year old, Bruce far surpassed any other student his age academically, as well as most students up to several years older than him. He was starting to hit a barrier however. Physical fitness.

Running towards Alfred and Jennifer proved easy enough. A short dash and he was there with the two. Alfred readily took the break, moving to occupy Bruce's old reading spot. Jennifer was in the mood for tag, so that's exactly what she did. "Tag! You're it!" she shouted, tapping Bruce's knee, and gunning in the opposite direction, zigzagging every which way like the energetic five-year-old she was. Had she gone in a straight line, Bruce would've caught her easily, but as he pursued his younger sister, he found that being smaller makes fast turns a good deal easier. For several minutes they went around like this, and it wasn't long until Bruce was winded. Thankfully, Jennifer ran out of energy at that same time, thus sparing Bruce his pride.

_I need to get stronger_ Bruce thought as he bent over to breath. _I need to build endurance. And I need to learn to fight too._ In the past years, Bruce had not just researched for school, but had also learned more about Gotham. He knew that Gotham City had one of the highest crime rates in the country. If he went against crime in Gotham, he'd need to be strong, smart, and skilled to take on those kinds of numbers. _I need to get stronger… and it's not going to happen here._ Bruce looked around the manor. The place he called home was safe. Too safe in his opinion. The only way he could get stronger was if he left the manor to learn elsewhere.

The thought of leaving left a guilty feeling in the young Bruce Wayne. The feeling was only amplified as he saw Alfred and Jennifer walking towards the main house, Jennifer holding their butlers hand tightly. Just with studying, he had already neglected his sister so much. If he left altogether, she wouldn't see him at all. _But she'd have Alfred_. He thought. Alfred had taken care of the two of them well.

Alfred had been Bruce's best friend for the past five years. He was dedicated to serving Bruce, as Thomas had intended that the Wayne fortune and property belong primarily to him. Alfred was always up for some witty banter or willing to give advice. Alfred was Bruce's sole confidant, and he trusted him dearly.

Just two years prior, Alfred was one of the few survivors of what the staff had nicknamed, 'The Purge'. Bruce had decided that the size of the current staff was far too large for the number of people actually living in the house. He decided to strip down the mansions staff to Alfred, as well as just a few other members, including one cook, and one maid to care for Jennifer in womanly matters. Afterward, the staff which had formerly consisted of almost twenty five members was now only four members strong, including Alfred. A cleaning crew was still called in for the less used rooms every once in a while, but other than that the mansion operated with a skeleton crew.

Back to the point however, Bruce trusted Alfred to keep his sister safe. This decision being made, Bruce began making a map that night. Over the next year, he would continue to work on that map, among his other studies.

One day, Alfred went to check on a fourteen-year-old Bruce, who for one very rare occasion, had not woken up for breakfast. Knocking and opening the door, Alfred found an empty bedroom, save its furnishings and one note.

_Dear Alfred_

_I've gone on a journey to continue my studies. I require anonymity however, and must therefore pursue my studies outside of Gotham City. I will return whenever I finish. In the case that I do not return within twenty years, you are to become the new primary owner and benefactor of Waynetech and the Wayne Foundation until Jennifer comes of age and has acquired sufficient education. I have spent the last year constructing several bank accounts which will not be traced back to Bruce Wayne. With this note I have included means to track those accounts so you may know that I am not dead. Thank you for understanding._

_ Bruce_

It was on that day, that Alfred's hair began to grey.

**Authors Note**

**And I'm back, and worse than ever. So I'm starting a new story… again. At any rate, this was just something that popped up when me and a friend were talking about fic ideas involving original characters. I thought it might be interesting to give Bruce a younger sibling that is still in school while he works as Batman. While I intend to make her an actual character, I'm not sure what I want to do with her yet. I don't really want to give her a super hero alias, but I don't want her to just be there. If anything, she's another vulnerable spot for Bruce Wayne, and one more reason he can't let his identity slip. **

**Anywho, this is the prologue chapter, and I've got a chapter one in the works. Reviews and criticisms will be greatly appreciated. Tell me what you think works, and what doesn't. Thanks a bunch.**


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